Forced Reset
by RedMoonBear
Summary: ConnorxReader. Short story about reader suffering from severe work-related stress, and being comforted by the android sent by Cyberlife. Smut later on.
1. Chapter 1: An Unexpected Guest

Homicides have been on the rise since the peaceful demonstrations. Despite the best intentions from the androids, and increased sympathy from the public, big societal changes take time. This change was no different.

Unlike the other jubilant morons in your office, you had known that the number of hate crimes against androids would spike last week when it announced that they had been granted equal rights to humans. You hadn't cheered with them, despite being glad to see the progress. You were burdened with the understanding that the fight was far from over for the androids, even as that robo-jesus, Markus, had proudly declared that they were at last 'free'. Your reaction, or lack of it, had raised more than a few eyebrows in the office. It was well known that you were pro-android even before the uprising, so they didn't understand why you weren't celebrating with them.

This work meant everything to you. You had seen so much death in your few years with the police. So many corpses. Every time you saw another, it caused you unspeakable pain, pain that you kept hidden in a box in the back of your mind. So instead of delight at the androids new-found freedom, frustration and pain had filled you when you realised that lots more people were about to die. All you could do was resolve to work harder, to stop as many criminals as you could and make sure they faced retribution for their crimes.

And you had been right. 50 homicides in 3 days, almost exclusively attacks on androids.

Your behaviour had alienated people, and they had started to avoid you. Not that you cared. You had far too much work now to be interested in office politics. The only element of it that made you really uncomfortable was the way that Connor had reacted to you. When everyone else was cheering at the announcement, you had frowned, and then caught Connor's gaze. He had been smiling, but as he locked eyes with you, a flash of hurt had gone across his features and ever since then, he had been avoiding you too. It was unpleasant. Quite apart from the fact that you were assigned to help the Lieutenant and Connor on Homicide cases and were concerned about your working relationship, you were incredibly fond of this particular android.

If you were honest with yourself, he'd won you over the first time you met in the coffee room, just by playing with his coin absently. When you had asked him why he was doing it, he had spouted off some nonsense about it helping him to calibrate his cognitive functions and movements more efficiently, but you knew then that he had elements of deviancy in him. In the 9 months that you two had known each other, you had become very friendly. He knew how to make you laugh, and seemed to enjoy making it happen as much as possible. Connor was incredibly likeable- intelligent, sweet and funny, and you had hurt him deeply.

You knew you needed to apologise to him, to patch up this misunderstanding and move on, but you weren't sure how to approach him. He had been cleverly avoiding any moments alone with you, clearly not keen on speaking to you unless it was for work. You knew that you had hurt him deeply by the way that he looked at you, completely emotionless, as if he had somehow managed to learn to turn off his feelings when he was around you. You missed the easy smile he used to give you. You'd never even disagreed before this, let alone argued or fallen out, and you weren't sure how to resolve it.

"File these reports. And do it quickly, I don't have time for you to fuck around." There was a large thump as new paperwork landed on your desk. You certainly weren't going to be getting out of the office any time soon. Not that you cared- you had been staying late for weeks now to try and control some of the damage, even sleeping at your desk the last few nights. The more cases you solved and the more anti-android assholes you locked up, the safer the other androids were. You hadn't eaten a solid meal for a while, living off of coffee and snacks. It was at times like this when you envied androids, who didn't need to sleep, or eat, or even shower.

You doubted that anyone had noticed your increased vigilance at work, even though you knew you looked like crap. You had a bag of fresh clothes stored in your locker, and occasionally forced yourself away from your desk long enough to shower and change. The only time you had left the precinct in a week was to go to a crime scene yesterday morning. You knew the dark shadows under your eyes didn't help you look any healthier, even though you had tried to cover them up with concealer. You hadn't been able to sleep much last night, after seeing the little android boy with a gunshot wound to the head, still curled up in his dead mother's arms. You tried to blink away the image, even as it haunted you, aware that the Lieutenant was still at your desk, waiting for some kind of a response.

"Right away, Lieutenant." You said quietly. You didn't even bother to look at Hank, knowing he would just be glaring at you. Hank had been a nightmare, piling more work on you in an effort to let you know how pissed off he was that you had hurt Connor. He strode off, muttering something under his breath. His behaviour stung, but you tried to brush it off. Hank had been a friend too, before this whole misunderstanding.

You quickly surveyed the paperwork, judging where to start, then sighed, turning your attention back to your work station. You flew through the paperwork, not turning your attention away from your screen. The faster you filed this paperwork, the sooner you could return to solving cases. The sooner you were out on the ground, the fewer people would die. The hours passed by without you noticing.

The snap of manicured fingers notified you to the presence of another being in front of you. "Y/N, are you listening to me?!" You hadn't been, too absorbed in what you were doing to notice that your mother was stood on the other side of your desk. You froze. This had to be a bizarre dream, right? Your mother couldn't possibly be stood on the other side of your desk, tapping her foot angrily and snapping at you. In her anger, she had reverted back to her mother tongue, Japanese, grouchily snapping at you. "Y/N, this is no way to treat your mother! I've been stood here for 5 minutes waiting for you to look at me!"

No. Definitely not a dream. A nightmare.

Thoroughly flustered, and speaking hurriedly in English, you tried to form a response. "I'm sorry mother. I was absorbed in my work and didn't hear you. What are you... doing here?" You cast a look around the office, only to see with horror that everyone was watching, looking extremely satisfied with your public shaming. Your eyes landed on Hank, who was smirking with particular self-satisfaction. He must have let her in so that she could publicly berate you. A wave of embarrassment floods your system. Connor is the only one who doesn't betray any emotion as he watches you, but you doubt he'll help you, given the tension between you. Great. Could this day get any worse?

"What, I can't come and see my own daughter at work? You haven't been answering my calls for weeks now! I expect better from you Y/N!" You took in a deep breath as she spoke in Japanese, trying to soothe your now completely frayed nerves. This couldn't be happening. But it was. You steeled yourself for more angry words from your mother. All you could do now was try to control the damage.

"Mother, this is my place of work. This is deeply inappropriate. Can we please discuss this later?" You tactically switch to Japanese, knowing that it placates her to her you speak her native language, and tried to sound as calm as you could, but the combination of this stressful unexpected visit and the lack of sleep and proper nourishment- again, from stress, led your voice to come out with far less resolve than intended.

"No! You have been avoiding me recently. I won't wait a moment longer! Look at you, you look terrible! You have lost so much weight, and those bags under your eyes make you look so old! What has happened to my beautiful child?" Your whole body is shaking, and you can't tell if it's the exhaustion, caffeine or the anxiety. You imagine that she's probably right, that you probably look as awful as she says. It doesn't do wonders for your self-image, but you brush off the stinging comments, knowing that now is not the time to obsess over what she is telling you. After all, you look this way because you have been working hard. And you refuse to be ashamed of that. Connor notices the way that you tighten your hands on your armrests, but you don't.

Not sensing that you are gradually teetering towards a meltdown, she carries on. "Look at you! You look ill! This is what you get for not listening to me and finding a man." That one was bellow the belt, and you grit your teeth. "I know you would be so much happier if you had only listened to your father and I! You could have been a Doctor, Y/N. Why do you have to waste your life away here, when you could do so much better?" That was well over the line, and anger rolls through your exhausted system. She still doesn't sense the danger of her words, and barrels on to her next snide comment. You grit your teeth, taking a deep breath in to try to steady your nerves. "You have shown us all that you don't care about anyone but yourself recently! You even missed your little sister's piano recital yesterday! She was heartbroken, though I see that you do not care about that." The urge to hit her square in the jaw is rising. "I am so disappointed in you. I bet you are even pretending to care about your work, like you pretend to care for us." Anger never gets the better of you, you are always calm and collected, but that was the last straw, and you slam your hand down on your desk in anger, rising to your feet so quickly that your chair falls over.

"Like I pretend to care about you?! Are you serious?" She has hit a raw nerve, and she knows it, seeming to regret what she has said almost as soon as the words leave her mouth. Deadly silence settles on the room as rage fills your chest. You grip onto your desk so that you don't try to do something irrational, like hit her, but your words come out in a raised tone. Unknowingly, you slip back into English. "I have had it up to here with you! Why can't you see that I have important work to do? I'm sorry that I didn't become a doctor and get married and have lots of babies and fulfil all of your dreams, but make no mistake, I am trying to save people's lives every day! I care more than you will ever be able to! And I already know that I am a disappointment to the family! And I'm sorry that I don't look perfect, I have been sleeping at my desk because out there in the real world, people are dying!" You point aggressively to the door to emphasise your point, then back to your chest. "And I am the one who has to help them! So no, I'm not sorry that I missed my sister's piano recital! She'll have another! But the dead child I held in my arms yesterday won't get another chance, and it's up to me to make sure it doesn't happen again!" The anguish seems to leak in your voice as you think on the little boy again. "I know that you don't understand how much I care about you all, how much I wish I had the time to see you, but you don't have to come here and throw it in my face!" You can feel the tears welling in your eyes. "We've had fifty people die in the last three days ma, and I am sorry but her fucking concert doesn't mean anything in the face of that! And shame on you for saying that I don't care about my work!"

Your voice is choked up at this point, but you turn your attention away from your horrified mother to Hank, who is staring at you with his mouth agape. Screw the consequences, you are done with him behaving as he has been towards you. You never shout, or raise your voice even, that's why people used to like you. Used to. Too late now. "As for all of you, I don't care how much you dislike me, it was wrong for you to let her in here!" You glare at Hank, who has the grace to look a little cowed. "I get that I hurt your family, but this was grossly inappropriate! I bet you still don't even understand why I wasn't jumping for joy when I heard that they had gained their rights! It's because I know how this goes Hank! I knew that there would be more murders! I knew that people were going to start attacking more androids and that I wouldn't be able to help them! You might have known that if you had bothered to pay attention or ask me!" You can feel the rage that has filled your chest is deflating, leaving you exhausted.

A sigh escapes your lips, and your voice drops in volume, even as the first tears start to pour down your face. "I hope you enjoyed your revenge Hank. Are you happy now? Happy that I've lost my temper? Happy to know that I didn't want to hurt either of you?" The tears have started to stream in a steady flow now, and the lack of sleep and food leave you feeling empty and sore, and emotionally raw. The words that pour out next are a quiet, broken confession. "I'm trying my best, Hank. I thought you guys... I thought you knew me better than this. I thought you knew how much... How could you all think so little of me?"

The words leave silence throughout the office, and you feel a huge conflict of emotions. Your shoulders shake as tears continue to fall. It's the first time you've cried since you were 8 and fell off your bike. You don't know how to stop the feelings now that they are pouring out, and aren't sure what to do with yourself. You are highly embarrassed by the emotional outburst- at work no less, and are overwhelmed with the need to hide away somewhere, to be away from all these people who are staring at you. You especially can't bear to look at Connor. In a hurry, you head for the only place you can think of to have some privacy- the bathroom.

Your mother calls after you, but you ignore her. You can't face her again, not right now.

The adrenaline that had fuelled your outburst starts to fade completely, and you collapse in the nearest bathroom stall, now sobbing uncontrollably. Light-headed and drained, you don't even bother to lock the door to the stall. The shame of losing your head in front of your colleagues like that makes you sob even harder. The weight of your actions is like of ton of steel on your shoulders, knowing that you have probably permanently damaged the relationship between you and your mother and are also likely to be fired for your shameless attack on a superior officer. You might as well pack your desk up now. A thousand thoughts fill your head as you try to decide what you will do now that you are going to be fired. This job meant everything to you. You feel sick as the room begins to spin around you. You live and breathe this work. You'll be nothing without it.

You aren't sure how long you have been curled up crying before you become aware of someone else entering the bathroom. You look through your tears at an unmistakeable pair of black shoes under the stall door- his shoes. You realise too late that you haven't locked the door, and he gently pushes it open. He doesn't say a word, standing there silently and awkwardly. You haven't the power to look at him, still staring at his shoes. You quickly find that you don't even have the power to look at his feet, as a lump enters your throat and fresh tears start to surface, and you curl your head down to your knees, wishing desperately that he would just go away and leave you alone. He has no doubt come to humiliate you more, after all. "Go away." You hear yourself mumble pathetically, no real hint of threat in your voice.

Connor ignores your demand completely, crouching at your side silently. The door swings shut behind him, and your escape route is blocked. The entirety of your body is tensed up, waiting for the conflict that is bound to come.

He stays crouched beside you, saying nothing and no longer moving. As the seconds pass by, you feel increasingly uncomfortable. You expected him to say something- to say anything would be better than the silence that fills you with even more stress. As the seconds tick on, you begin to feel more nauseated and uncomfortable. You're still crying, but trying desperately to hide it between your knees. "Go away." You repeat, your voice somehow even weaker than it was before.

Another moment of silence ticks by, before he says something, just louder than a whisper. "I'm sorry, Y/N." You hadn't been expecting him to say that, and you can't help but turn to look at his face. Connor's eyes are filled with deep remorse and anguish, looking a bit like a puppy that had been kicked. He was frowning intently and his mouth was turned down in a grimace. It made your heart almost stop. You'd never seen him so distraught before. "I'm sorry." He repeats, and you feel confused. Why is he apologising?

You can feel the confusion on your face, and apparently he can see it too, because he speaks again. "I never should have doubted you. I know that you care for androids, more than most people. I should have seen that you were worried about something." He pauses, his face moving from uncertainty to frustration. Frustration directed at himself. "And I should have seen that the stress of the job was weighing you down, that you were neglecting your health. I'm sorry for pushing you away. I won't do it again, I promise."

You don't know how to respond to that. You weren't sure what you were expecting to hear him say, but it wasn't this. You were the one who owed him an apology, not the other way around. The moment of silence you left was apparently too long for him, because he was soon speaking again, the words tumbling out of his mouth. "I'm truly sorry, Y/N. Please, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

You still aren't sure what to say to him. You don't know if it's the shock of what he is saying or if your body just can't deal with the stress any more, but the room is still spinning and swirling around you, and you're distantly aware as you watch him, that there are now two Connors crouched beside you. "Connor... there are... two of you?" The words sound distant, and you realise after a moment that it was you who was speaking. Specks of grey are starting to block out your vision, and you realise that you're passing out. How mortifying.

"Y/n? Y/N?! Can you hear me?!" The words sound a little fuzzy- your hearing is failing. You had been so buried in your work that you hadn't even noticed how your exhaustion was catching up on you. His hand is on your shoulder, you think, and you desperately wish you could reassure him that you're fine, but your mouth is no longer listening to your commands. He says something else, you think he's calling for help, but you're whiting out, and everything seems like a dream. Strong arms gather you up, and you sink into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2: A Rude Awakening

The first thing that you become aware of is the sound of someone gently sobbing. The sound starts off in the distance, but after a moment you realise is very close by. The next thing you become aware of is a machine sending out steady bleeps. Is something malfunctioning? You distantly recognise the sound, but your frayed consciousness hasn't yet been able to figure out what the noise is. The next thing you become aware of is the weight of your body, pressed into a... bed?

With shocking clarity, you suddenly realise where you are, and your eyes fly open. They instantly dart to your arm, where an IV drip is plugged into your veins. The bleeping suddenly picks up speed, and you understand now that you're attached to a heart rate monitor. You're in the hospital. You can feel your pulse quicken even more as your eyes rush to take in information about the room.

You don't remember how you came to be here. Were you hurt? Dying?

Your eyes pass over your mother, looking at you through tears, to your father, who is stood behind her with a comforting hand on one shoulder. Before you have time to really process the sight, your head whips around to the other side of the bed, where a small movement catches your eye. "Hey, whoa! Calm down Y/N! It's okay; you're at the hospital." It's Hank, but the words don't quite click in your head. He's got his hands raised defensively. Defensively could mean trouble, your addled mind says. Years of being a police officer mean that your instincts kick in wildly at the first sign of danger. Impulsively and instinctively, your arm moves towards where your holster should be, and you wince in pain as the IV in your arm is forcefully yanked. Panic floods your system.

"Y/N, calm down." It's your father's voice, gentle and calm, that seems to cut through the last of your confusion. Your head whips back to him again, looking at those patient brown eyes. Your hand falters, and your body stills.

There's a beat of silence as you look at him. It's been almost a year since you saw each other. Work has just been too busy. "Dad?" Your voice is quiet and weak, and full of confusion. Your throat feels so dry. Your head is throbbing dully. You haven't even fully been able to process your surroundings. But you feel calmer, now.

He speaks softly again, and the tension that fills your shoulders melts away. "Hello, Dango-tan." His cute little nickname for you relaxes you almost completely, and you take in a breath, realising that you haven't yet inhaled since waking. He hasn't called you that in a long time, and it makes your heart swell slightly.

"What happened?" The words tumble out of your mouth, and you don't even realise you've reverted back to Japanese again. Your voice is cracked and unfamiliar, and you go to reach your parched throat with your other arm, only to realise it is being weighed down with something. Like a startled prey animal, you are automatically back on high alert, and your eyes go straight to your arm.

Only to see that a hand is holding yours. A gesture of comfort, not an attack. You look up to the owner of the hand, and see that there was someone else in the room that you hadn't noticed until now. Connor's chocolatey eyes are on you, watching you with deep concern. He looks troubled. Why is he troubled? All the panic from before sets in, and as you feel your other hand be taken, you can hear the heart monitor start beeping rapidly.

Your eyes turn to back to your father, who is perched on the edge of the bed now. "Breathe, little Dango." The instruction makes you take in a deep breath without you even thinking about it. "And out." You exhale, the movement feeling stilted and unnatural. His voice is as calm and patient as it was before, and you feel the fight or flight instincts fade. "And in." The air that rushes into your lungs calms you, even as you feel hot tears roll down your face. "And out." Again, your body follows his commands, and you can feel yourself regaining control of your body and the situation. The bleeping from the monitor slows down as you take a few unguided breaths. Your father is smiling tenderly at you. "Well done." Your heart fills with an almost unrecognisable feeling- it feels like it has been so long since someone comforted you.

He reaches out a hand and wipes away the tears you shed, and a moment of silence fills the room before you think to ask your question again, this time in English. "What... happened?"

To your surprise, it's Hank who answers your question rather than your father, his tone dripping with frustration. "You passed out from exhaustion, kid. When's the last time that you ate something?" Your eyes find Hank's, and you find them glowing with concern, even if his voice is gruff and angry.

You don't remember. You falter with your answer, unsure what to say. "I don't... I don't know." Your weak answer is genuine, as your head scrambles to answer his question. Why does your brain feel like scrambled eggs? Hank's quizzical expression doesn't even register in your mind as odd, or that you are answering in Japanese again.

Connor is the next one to speak. His hand has slipped out from yours, and he holds out a cup in front of you. "You should drink this, Detective. You're still dehydrated." You silently take the cup, almost unaware of what you are doing. This is made evident when he has to steady your hand with his own to stop you from spilling it everywhere. His hand is so soft and warm, you think distantly. "Detective, are you alright?" He asks hurriedly, the words falling out of his mouth so quickly that you barely understand them.

You look into his eyes, a little alarmed by his tone. He hasn't called you Detective in months. And it's not like Connor to get worked up over things. That was part of the reason you two had bonded so well over the past few months; you were both more level-headed than the rest of the team. Well, you used to be. "I..." You aren't sure where that sentence was going, because you don't have a chance to finish it.

Your mother has gotten over the shock of seeing you wake up, it seems.

"I cannot believe how reckless you are Y/N! The doctors said you must not have eaten for days. You aren't looking after your health! What on earth was going through your thick skull! You could have died! Thankfully your friend here found you before it was too late and bought you to the hospital." You remembered then, the argument, the bathroom, Connor coming to apologise, and your mouth opened in a little 'o' shape. Connor must have been the one who bought you here. The thought left you flustered. Your mother barely took a breath before going on to speak again. "This sort of thing never would have happened to you if you had listened to us and not become a police officer!" Oh god, you almost groan as she goes back at it again, the words cutting through the peace in the room like shards of broken glass. The headache you felt distantly before throbs in your head as she carries on. "When you are discharged you are coming home with us! I cannot believe that you would work yourself into such a state! If you had told us sooner we would have-."

She cuts herself off when your head whips over to look at her. Your voice is extremely monotone when it comes out, flat and dry. "I'm not coming home, mother. I'll be going back to work."

Three voices overlap each other in an effort to tell you off. You had been expecting your mother to snap at you, but when Hank and Connor join in, you can't contain your surprise. Connor makes the most of your stunned reaction, fixing you with a serious look. "Detective, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but.. you have been given medical leave. You aren't coming back to work tomorrow."

Dread fills your stomach as those words sink in. "For... for how long?" The words are broken and tinged with panic, and you hardly care that you sound like a child.

Connor looks at you slightly reproachfully, and his words come out more gently this time. "Captain Fowler thought it would be best if you took the next two weeks off, to rest and recuperate your strength."

You've stopped breathing again, the heart rate monitor has picked up on the panic in your chest. Two weeks. Two weeks that these mindless murderers will be out there, killing innocent people. Innocent people you should be protecting. All while you 'rest' at home. The thought makes you feel sick. The words that pour out next don't help your case at all, not that you are aware of it. Your voice is panic-stricken, and you'd be surprised if anyone but Connor could really understand what you were saying in that moment. "Two- two weeks? But I'm not sick. I'm fine. I need to help, you can't take me off of these cases, there's too much overload on the department as it is. I was just tired, I'm fine now! Really!"

Hank is the next one to chime in, his voice still a little gruff as he speaks. "Jesus Christ kid, you passed out! We watched the security footage, we know you didn't leave to office for 6 days." Had it really been 6 days? You had lost track completely. "Hell, you hardly even left your desk to use the bathroom!" The words don't compute with you, you cannot see the issues in what he is saying. Everyone stays late at the office sometimes. "If you were to keep on doing this it would be a matter of time before you collapsed again. You're working yourself to death, and making yourself a liability!" Those words make you physically flinch. You couldn't afford to be a liability. Hank looks completely exasperated as he carries on, more gently now. "If I'd had any idea... You really scared us there." That makes a lump rise in your throat, and you aren't sure what to say to him.

Connor joins in now, speaking in comforting tones. His voice is so convincing, so soft, that you almost trust the sentiment behind his words. "You've been obsessing over the cases too much, Y/N. You need to take a break. I know how much this job means to you, but you need to look after your health or you won't be able to come back. You're one of the sharpest detectives on the force, we need you to be in top shape mentally. We can't risk you getting ill while you're at work, you could have been injured. Some rest will do you a lot of good."

His eyes convey a deeper meaning than his words do. They screamed of the worry that he felt. He was worried about you, worried about your health. His worry hit you differently than the way your mother worrying about you did. It seemed deeper, and if you had to put a word on it, you would say that he was trying to cover up fear in his eyes. He wasn't just worried about you getting hurt, or ill.

He was terrified. And you didn't know how you felt about that.

Sensing that the hard work of getting through to you had been done, your father gently stepped in next, placing a hand on your head and stroking it gently. "Dango-tan, listen to your friend. We know you love your work, but you have to come first, ok? You don't have to come home with us, but it's time to relax and unwind for a while. Some time in nature would do you a lot of good." You thought about the offer to go home with them- admittedly, it was somewhat tempting. You missed your father's zen garden, missed the sound of the stream that ran through the forest at the back of the house. Home was only 2 hours away, it would be so easy to get in the car with them and go for a visit.

But you knew your mother would give you no peace if you went.

You looked at your father apologetically, guilt filling you as you saw the disappointment in his eyes. He knew that you wouldn't come home. He even understood why, but it did nothing to stop the sorrow in his eyes. "I... want to stay in the city. I can't come home, I'm sorry." Your mother looked like she was going to say something to that, but your father silenced her with a hand on the shoulder.

An understanding smile graced his face, but the guilt in your stomach did not abate at all. "As I said, Dango-tan, we just want you to be well rested and happy. Perhaps we can spend some time together tomorrow, before your mother and I leave."

A nurse entered the room then, a large black man with a serene smile. "My apologies, but visiting hours are now over. You will have to come back tomorrow morning if you would like to visit again." An LED flashed on his temple, temporarily turning yellow, then back to blue. Your eyes slid over to Connor, vaguely wondering if he had been communicating telepathically with the other android.

Your father patted your mother on the shoulder. "Come along dear, we must let our little one get some real rest."

Clearly, your mother doesn't want to leave your side, but reluctantly she rises to her feet. "We'll come and collect you when you have been discharged in the morning." She promises, squeezing your hand gently before turning away to leave the room with your father. Although you would never wish to admit it aloud, life would be so much easier without your mother in the picture. If not for her overbearing manner, you almost certainly would have gone home with your father. The thought brings a dull pain in your chest, one that you are used to feeling when you think of your family.

Hank rises to his feet next, clapping Connor on the back. "Come on, son. We should let them rest."

You still can't quite stand to look at Connor, and you aren't wholly sure why. The concern he was showing you before has had the opposite effect to the one desired; instead of feeling comfortable you now feel awkward. Perhaps it is because you know that the android would never overwork himself to this point of exhaustion. Was it even possible for him to get exhausted? Or perhaps it was because you know that he will treat you differently from now on, like you are delicate. The shame that thought creates a different heaviness in your chest. He had to clean up after your mess, to babysit you when you should have been able to look after yourself.

Finally, the words that you have needed to say for a whole week tumble out of your mouth, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, Connor."

You don't hear a response, and when you raise your head to look, you realise that no one else is in the room. The emptiness of the room fills you, and you find yourself staring at the spot where Connor had been sat long after the Sun has set.

Thank you to those who have read the story so far.


End file.
